Small Rebellions
by VulcanElf
Summary: Things are different when Cid Highwind comes home from Meteor -- and he doesn't like different. A small-scale war takes place on the home front that he is determined not to lose, no matter the cost. Rated for strong language -- it's Cid.


Greetings, all. This small project came about as the brain-child of a discussion on the Genesis Awards Forums, in which it was asserted that Cid/Shera is not an interesting pairing because she is such a bland character. I happen to disagree, and here is my attempt at showing why. I hope you enjoy.

Oh, and a quick thank you to my friend and beta, Pen Against Sword, for having a look at this before I posted it to be sure I wasn't making a horrible mistake. ;)

* * *

It began with small rebellions. Tiny acts of defiance with little or no significance on their own but that, added all together, came to a grand final sum that equaled a flat-out declaration of war. Whether he liked it or not – and Cid Highwind very decidedly did _not _like it – he had to admit that things between him and his Shera had changed when he came home from Meteor.

He supposed it had something to do with the damnable truth that had come out. That Shera really _had_ been right all those years ago, that she really _had_ saved his life on that shuttle. They'd been living for so long under the backwards notion that the facts were the other way around.

They had both become so used to the dynamic, too. He had resented her for the forever-lost opportunity, and she had needed his abuse in order to assuage the guilt. It wasn't comfortable for either of them, but that had been the point, and it worked out in a way they felt they couldn't do without. Sometimes the tedium of Cid's failed half-life was too much even for Shera, and only a particularly harsh word from the Captain could make her role in the whole farce bearable. They both knew he was meant for so much more than this. They both knew.

But that was before. That was the life they both knew. When Cid came back to Rocket Town a hero looking for accolades, what he found instead was an empty house and a cold teapot, and no Shera.

His first overreaction was to panic. Sure, a lot of bad shit had gone down, but he hadn't expected any of it to touch Rocket Town, or his woman. Something must have happened to her, something awful, and he hadn't even been home to stop it. He went on what could only be called a mad tear, asking for news around town.

His second overreaction was purple-faced rage when he learned that, no, Shera had not met some horrible Meteor-related fate in his absence – she was simply busy elsewhere. There was more need than ever for people with her skills, as the planet struggled to cope with a new reality that did not include mako-generated energy to solve their day-to-day problems. He found her in town, tinkering with some kind of experimental generator, and demanded that she get her ass back home to help change his bandages.

That was when he encountered the first signs of rebellion. Because, she did come home, but only after smiling quite serenely and telling him she would be a while.

Cid Highwind did not like being told to wait.

After that, it started to pile up, one straw at a time. Understeeped tea, the sugar now kept in a different cupboard where he didn't find it until his drink was cold. His slippers not where they were supposed to be when he got up to take a piss at four in the morning. When Shera helped change the bandages on the awful seeping wound in his shoulder from that last fight, and the antibiotic cream stung like a motherfucker, she shook her head at his snarled string of curses and actually told him not to be such a baby. He was surprised enough by the act of mutiny that he shut the hell up and fumed in silence while she finished the job. Afterward, she smiled at him and said it was good to have him home.

That took him by surprise, too.

As boring as Cid had always told himself he thought his life was, here in Rocket Town endlessly yearning for the glory of his youth, he found himself growing more and more irritated every day that things failed to get back to normal. Shera was out of the house almost all the time now, rebuilding, helping the townsfolk, working on that experimental generator. When she did do her chores now, they were the final, almost-forgotten priority. Sure, Cid had only wadded up his shirts before putting them on, back in the days when she had still ironed for him, but he missed the ritual of it. He missed being able to tell her she had used too much starch, and seeing that crumpled look in her eyes that meant his approval mattered to her.

The fact was, it very obviously _didn't_ matter to her anymore. Things were downright grim these days, but for some reason Shera was laughing more than ever, and it was mostly at his foul-mouthed anger. He was a hero; he had saved the world, dammit, and he deserved some goddamn respect. Something that seemed in short supply in post-Meteor Rocket Town.

He was no genius – not like that stupid, mouse-faced, infuriating Shera – but it didn't take Cid long to figure out what was going on. Shera had realized two things that were both terribly inconvenient for him: that she did not need him and did not owe him. Things would never be the same again.

Cid thought things over while eating noodles that were too hard for his liking, _al dente_ the way Shera preferred them – another minor revolt. Shera spent the meal drafting designs for the new generator with her right hand while eating with her left. Not once since his return had she asked him to talk about his grand adventure with AVALANCHE; and other than helping him change his dressings, she really hadn't even demonstrated any sign of concern that he might have been in danger. He sulked, watching her at her working dinner, thinking that he would have to do something about this situation, fast.

It was almost like… like he had never really known her at all. Being honest with himself as he considered the problem, he realized that it was the truth.

He finished his dinner long before she did. Still absorbed in her work, she absent-mindedly asked him if he wouldn't mind clearing his own plates. Cid glared at the top of her stupid head, furiously clenching his cigarette between his teeth, but she never looked up to see the murder in his eyes and eventually he got up and cleaned his own damn dishes. She called a bright _Thank you_ from the table, earning another string of gruff expletives; but this time Cid only muttered them to himself, under his breath.

The little things kept adding up. Here it was the way she addressed him without the deference he was used to, there it was the way she didn't say she was sorry when the toast was too dark. Meals started to consist sometimes of things he hated, but that were apparently her favorites, and then came the night when she told him she was going to be working late and he'd have to fend for himself. Furniture was re-arranged slightly, tools were no longer "allowed" to be left out on the coffee table, the garbage no longer made its way to the curb without his help.

And just what the hell did that mean – he wasn't _allowed_ to leave his tools out? Who the fuck did she think she was, making _rules_ like that? She was the woman who had dashed his dreams, and he only let her hang around because no one else had any use for her sorry, apologetic ass, and she ought to be grateful that he –

God_dammit_. None of that was true. Not anymore.

More often now, Cid found he was having to take care of himself because Shera just wasn't there like he had grown used to. And he discovered that he really, truly, _hated_ it. Hated having to figure out how to do all the dull day-to-day crap that Shera could manage in her sleep but that he, apparently, stank at. It wasn't fair, that the woman could be a goddamn rocket scientist _and_ somehow make the best flapjacks on the continent, while he could barely manage to boil water without setting the kitchen on fire. He hated that he didn't know where anything in the house was kept, hated not having someone else to blame when things went wrong, hated being alone. Most of all he hated being alone.

But it was just stupid old Shera, with the soft voice and the granny glasses and the ugly mouse-frizz hair. Why should he want her company – why should he care that she didn't seem to have been worried about him? Why should it matter so damn much that he missed the goofy-ass way she practically fell over herself to apologize any time he gave her a cross look; or her shy smile in the morning when she handed him his tea, hoping that just this once he might offer a kind word in return?

He did, though. He really did. Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. He missed the old days, missed the status quo, missed her quiet worship. And as time passed and she had more to do that had nothing to do with him, he began to see that soon he was going to lose any last trace of her altogether.

She was finally living _her_ life, no longer punishing herself for destroying his. It had to be as clear to her as it was to him that he didn't belong in this new life of hers. Or maybe it wasn't, yet. Maybe he still had time.

The first time Cid asked Shera to marry him, and the second, she said _no_. The third time, she told him to find himself a dog, a nice old stray he could really bond with. That pissed him off, but he was _trying_ to make a good impression, so he waited until she had gone off to tinker with her generator machines before flipping his shit.

The fourth time, she sat down – in _his_ favorite chair – and asked him quite seriously why he thought he wanted to get married, and why to her. On top of pissing him off again, that one really threw him. He didn't have an answer, or at least not an answer he was prepared to say out loud. He doubted it would win her over if he admitted he just wanted to make sure she didn't go anywhere and leave him behind. Besides, Cid wasn't about to go all sissy-needy over some broad just because he didn't like sorting his own socks.

When he couldn't answer, she told him with all kinds of female condescension that he didn't love her and would regret marrying her the second the papers were signed. Adding insult to injury, she smiled and told him not to worry, that she was far too busy to think about moving out.

"Besides," she said even more patronizingly, as though she was speaking to a five-year-old, "I've grown kind of fond of hearing you snore in the next room. Did you know you even swear in your sleep?" She even reached out and patted his hand.

God, he hated that woman!

Only, when he started to seriously think about what would happen to him if she ever found the time to move out, move on, he didn't like it. Not one bit. Even if she was going to become this mocking creature he didn't even know, who enjoyed cooking foods he hated and who handed him a needle and thread when he told her he'd lost a button, he couldn't imagine a life without her in it. That pissed him off too, even more.

There came a sleepless night, a dark time of introspection of the kind he hated, when he realized that he actually did love her. He drank off his last pack of beer and sucked down an entire pack of cigarettes that night. It hit him only two bottles in that the real problem was that she'd never believe him.

Cid Highwind was not the type for grand gestures, but – That was a lie. Cid Highwind _was_ the type for grand gestures of the gloriously, stupidly impetuous and larger-than-life kind, and he especially liked making them when he had no idea what the hell he was doing. The truth was just that he wasn't familiar with this emotion crap, and had no idea how to go about treating a lady like she ought to be treated. (His mother would have given him a concussion with her rolling pin if she had ever heard him say that.) If there was a way to convince Shera to marry him, he didn't know what it was.

Since he couldn't think how to carry this off with any kind of style, he decided to just go with direct.

He started off by being nice. Or at least doing his best to be nice. That was the hardest part, actually. He made an effort to keep the blasphemy down to a bare minimum, didn't say anything when the tea was weak, thanked her for breakfast, and even finally gave in to her pleas that he not smoke inside the house. It nearly killed him.

When he was sure she must have noticed, he came in for the kill. He showed up at the abandoned hangar where she and the other engineers were working on their generator, and he had a box of chocolates with him. More impressively, he had brushed his hair and knocked the mud from his boots and put on clean clothes that didn't have a speck of plaid or army green anywhere on them. Even more impressively than _that_, he brought a ring. His grandma's antique diamond ring.

"Hey Shera!" he yelled when he spotted her. "Could you get over here for a minute? I got somethin' to ask you."

The be-spectacled, too intelligent, frustrating object of his heart's desire eyed the chocolates, and the tiny red velvet box, and the ridiculousness of his appearance – he had forgotten to shave – and sighed. Some of the other engineers, catching on, began to hoot and whistle meaningfully.

Cid only knew one way to do this – with conviction and finality. He put the chocolates into her unwilling hands, ignoring the weary patience in her eyes. "Look, Shera. I – aw, shit." He had forgotten to get onto his knees. He now did so, wondering when he had gotten so damn old that kneeling hurt this much.

The woman's eyebrows shot upward behind her enormous glasses.

"So, Shera. Look. You said I don't want to marry you 'cause I don't love you. I figure you wouldn't believe me if I just told you I do, so I won't. I'm gonna do this instead." He pulled out a megaphone – stolen from Cait Sith, just to fuck with the stupid thing, but coming in handy now – and thumbed the power switch.

"Listen up, all you eggheads and grease monkeys," he said into the mouthpiece. The hangar was conducting the sound nicely; he had no doubt people on the street could hear him loud and clear. "This is the Captain, Cid Highwind, and I want all y'all to know that I love Shera. That's right. I'll say it again. I love her and I plan to make her my wife, and I ain't gonna take no for an answer this time."

She looked positively stunned now, her brow furrowed in confusion.

He took that as his cue to press on. With his free hand, he flipped open the little red box and showed her the ring inside. "You know what this is, right? Well, just so you know I ain't kiddin' around, I'll go ahead and say it out loud too: this is my old Grammy Highwind's ring, and I'm givin' it to you, Shera. Even if you say no, I want you to have it." He thought this would be a good time to grin charmingly. "But don't say no."

Quite a commotion was starting to build around them, engineers and people coming in off the street gathering around to offer words of advice and encouragement.

"Say yes, honey! He loves you!"

"Do it, Shera, do it!"

"Kick him to the curb, sweetie! You don't need a man to be whole!"

"Come on, it's a family heirloom! You can't say no to that!"

"_I'll_ marry you, Captain!"

"Yes! Yes! Say yes!"

As much as Cid loved a crowd, especially one that was paying attention to him, he found himself sweating nervously. Shera had not said anything, and hers was the only approval he wanted. Dammit, he wanted her to admire him, and not because she had been bullied into it. He wanted her to love him. He needed her to say yes. If she didn't – aw, fuck. If she didn't he was going to be fucking heartbroken and that was just plain pathetic. Cid Highwind did not do pathetic.

He shut off the megaphone. "Marry me, Shera."

She watched him for a very long time that felt even longer because of the heckling crowd. She was not smiling.

"Goddammit, woman! I've put my fucking heart on a plate for you here. Cut me some kinda slack, will you?"

That, finally, elicited something like a smile, but it went away quickly. "Hmph. _There_ you are."

"Dammit, Shera!"

She kept looking at him with that same serious expression, studying him. Almost as though she was mentally taking him apart and looking at the pieces, like he was one of her machines. "I think you might actually mean it," she said at last.

"'Course I do," Cid said, equally hopeful and irritated. Hadn't he made a big enough ass of himself for her?

"If I say yes," she said after another long pause – Cid's heart flipped and then dropped into his stomach and then seemed to bounce around inside his chest at the words – "there would be conditions. I think you know how much of a pig you've been to me all these years. That's going to change."

He jerked his head up and down in a rough nod, his mouth suddenly too dry to make words.

She seemed to consider the matter. "All right, then. I accept. I'll marry you, Cid Highwind. But only as long as you understand that you're mine now, not the other way around."

"Hell yeah!" he heard himself yelling hoarsely over their suddenly raucous audience. Before he knew it, he was up off his knees to grab that frumpy, meddlesome, frustrating, beautiful, brilliant woman into a fierce embrace. And once he had her in his arms, he realized he never wanted to let her go.

Even if it was going to be one long war until the day they died.


End file.
